


the world is only you and me

by jjxneus



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Dreams, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, High School, M/M, Pining, Slow Dancing, Youngjo is pretty whipped, they're gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25992214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjxneus/pseuds/jjxneus
Summary: Youngjo reunites with Geonhak within the strange dreams they’ve both been having and he finally finds the courage to confess everything he should have said years ago.-join me alone on these cold roadswe’ll dance together through the fogof empty streets, before dawn unloadsthe world is only you and me
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	the world is only you and me

**Author's Note:**

> I said I was going to write soft youngdo one of these days and here it is :]
> 
> this one was inspired by the time i woke up at 4am, looked outside and saw the street covered in fog except for an area under a light, and then i wrote that little poem in the description

The streetlamp overhead flickers once, twice, then stays on. Youngjo stands alone on an empty road. A thick fog surrounds him on all sides, blanketed by the darkness of the night, but it avoids the wide circle of light created by the streetlamp. He lifts an arm towards the fog but it doesn’t envelop him, instead it moves away as if repelled by his presence. He lowers his arm again and glances down. He’s in his casual clothes - a grey hoodie with his high school’s mascot plastered on the front and fluffy pyjama pants with cartoon cat faces printed all over. His slippers are still on which indicates to him that he must have fallen asleep at his desk, never having made it to his bed before exhaustion from overworking himself took over. 

Because surely this must be a dream, no matter how real it feels, he couldn’t possibly be existing here in reality. 

There’s music playing in the distance, as if someone has it blasting from their house somewhere along this street. But there’s too much fog for him to make out anything in the darkness. The only other sound is his breathing as he takes a seat on the curb directly beneath the streetlight. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he can just barely make out the words in the song; something about a star and a beautiful flower that never wilts. 

The music seems to flow right through him until he’s swaying his body to the sound of the drums and the guitar. The longer he keeps his eyes closed, the clearer the notes become, until he finds himself whispering the words along with the singer. He’s never heard this song before. 

His eyes snap open and he wakes up with his head resting on his folded arms atop his desk. He sits up stiffly and looks down at his watch - 4:00AM. 

\---

The streetlamp overhead flickers once, twice, then stays on. Youngjo blinks around at his surroundings as he shoves his hands into his pockets. This time he’s in his pyjamas and barefoot. He flinches as he takes a step forward onto cold concrete and then takes a seat on the curb once again. He’s not quite sure if he should expect anything. 

It seems his subconscious is less creative than he’d hoped if it has conjured up the same dream for the second time in a week. But he doesn’t mind, he supposes, at least it’s peaceful. A calm place of solace and no small amount of mystery away from how crowded and busy his life seems to be getting at every turn. Perhaps now he will have a chance to think, a chance to actually hear his own thoughts without them being drowned out by anxiety and his own second-guessing. 

He taps out a rhythm against his knees, repeating it over and over as he tries to perfect it for his current song project. But he’s hit a block and he feels stuck; nothing feels right with the sound or the beat or even his instrument choice. Clearly his frustrations carry over to his dream self as he sits alone in the empty street. 

There’s another song playing, different to the one playing the first time he had arrived here. He sighs to himself, his breath visible like smoke in the cold air, and closes his eyes. If he focuses on this music, perhaps it could provide him with some much-needed inspiration. He takes a deep breath in, letting the air fill his lungs and holding it there before he breathes out slowly. He crosses his legs and he lets himself ignore the static buzzing in his mind. 

It’s familiar. Too familiar. 

He knows this song. 

He can feel the piano beneath his fingers. He still has the path across the keys memorised. But the words get stuck in his throat, trapped there and unable to escape. Lyrics that were written in an old notepad while hidden away in the corner of a music classroom in high school, his tongue between his teeth in concentration as he furiously crossed out lines and rewrote them in a borrowed blue pen. The hand of his best friend and co-producer shaking his shoulder, as the bell rang to signal the end of lunch, to let him know they had to return to class. His best friend- Geonhak. 

As soon as the name graces his lips, he feels himself falling backwards and he opens his eyes to the bright sunlight of the morning greeting him. 

\---

_He’s curled up in the corner of one of the music classrooms, surrounded by acoustic guitars hanging from hooks lining the walls. His notepad sits in his limp hand beside him as he mumbles in his sleep, fingers twitching every so often as his eyebrows furrow. The creak of the door wakes him up and he makes a small noise of discomfort as he sits up and rubs his neck with a hand. He’s greeted by a familiar chuckle, low and soft, as Geonhak enters the room. Youngjo squints up at him and pats what little of the ground there is beside him that isn’t taken up by his bag and assignment papers. Geonhak takes a seat with an expression that isn’t exactly a smile or a pout, but his nose scrunches for a second and Youngjo wants to melt._

_Geonhak gently pries the notepad from Youngjo’s hand, taking it with ease as the latter doesn’t move to give it to him nor keep it away, but Geonhak’s fingers are gentle nonetheless. He reads the scrawled lyrics with a curious expression, shifting in his spot and Youngjo holds his breath. He wants to reach out, to let his fingers softly glide across Geonhak’s arm, to let their shoulders press against each other. He craves contact, but despite the many years they’ve known each other, Geonhak is still shy. So Youngjo waits._

_They both should really be heading home soon but Geonhak shifts closer until his head is almost resting on Youngjo’s shoulder, his short hair tickling the underside of Youngjo’s chin. He lifts a hand to comb through it absentmindedly._

_“These are good.” Geonhak finally speaks, his low voice echoing around the room. It should break the moment, this bubble of comfortable silence and slightly surreal sunlight that has built itself around them, but Youngjo feels only warmth._

_That has nothing to do with the fact that Geonhak is turning his head to smile up at him, of course. Absolutely nothing._

_“I need to step up my game.” Geonhak sighs and Youngjo clicks his tongue._

_“Your lyrics are great,” He replies, voice coming out much softer than he intends. “I tried to write something that would match them, actually.”_

_Geonhak nods and his eyes seem to brighten at the compliment, his cheeks puffing out as he glances back down at the notepad. “Ah, I thought I noticed some parallels.”_

_“They’re like us.” Youngjo says, continuing when Geonhak only raises an eyebrow in question, “They complement each other, like us.”_

_Geonhak opens and closes his mouth a few times as the tips of his ears go bright red. He makes an odd noise, almost like a whine, and eventually opts to hide his face in Youngjo’s neck._

_“You’re so,” Geonhak pauses, voice muffled against Youngjo’s uniform, “unbelievably cheesy.”_

_Youngjo laughs and Geonhak audibly chokes on his breath, “That’s not even the worst thing I’ve ever said.”_

_Geonhak pulls away and makes a big show of huffing and shaking his head, but when he meets Youngjo’s gaze, there’s something a little_ more _in his eyes. Something a little brighter, a little warmer, shining like stars._

_Not for the first time, Youngjo wonders if perhaps his crush isn’t so unrequited after all._

What are we? _He wants to ask, but the words won’t leave his tongue. They sit there at the tip, waiting for him to gather up the courage he needs, but it never comes._

_And the memory dissolves in a swirl of colour._

\---

He stares down at his phone in his hand.

Geonhak’s contact details stare back up at him, daring him to make a move, to make a decision. But it’s been years since they last spoke, having drifted apart slowly after high school. Different universities and different schedules had made the time they could spend together drastically decrease over the years. Youngjo swallows thickly, his thumb hovering over the call button. 

He puts his phone down and turns back to the open music files on the computer screen before him. 

What would he even say to Geonhak? “Hey I had a weird dream where I heard the song we made together again and that inspired me enough to break me out of my producer’s block so this new song I’ve written is about you and I want to dedicate it to you.”? No. He couldn’t say that. 

He groans and rubs his eyes. Now that he’s started, he can’t stop the flood of memories that come rushing back. He’d never forgotten, but he had kept them buried away in a dark corner of his mind beneath old photographs and old wishes of ‘what if’. He should be over it by now, he should be over Geonhak. But his heart still aches for what they could have been. 

The deadline for this assignment looms closer by the second. He’s a year off from graduating, he’s so close and yet so far. He sighs and presses play again, resting his chin in his palm as he hums along. 

\---

The streetlamp overhead flickers only once this time, then stays on. 

He’s gotten used to this dream by now, or so he’d like to think. This is his fifth visit and he finds himself hoping something new will happen, unlike the past two times. They had been short, the time spent just standing beneath the light with his mind replaying the day’s events. 

Youngjo smiles as the faint sound of strings floats through the air. Finally, there’s music again. It’s nothing elaborate this time; just a beautiful violin playing a solo. No words and no other instruments. But it’s melancholic, almost bittersweet, and it leaves a sour taste on his tongue. Not unpleasant. He glances down at the watch around his wrist. 4:00AM again on the dot. He could’ve sworn he’d gone to bed earlier but the hours have begun to blend together in his mind. He’s not quite sure he can truly tell day from night anymore. 

The street feels odd this time too. 

There’s always a sense of unreality to it, and this time is no different, in fact it feels even stronger. Youngjo stands up. The streetlamp whispers to him, a soft incantation with indiscernible words that flow together and blur. Somewhere around him in the darkness, an owl hoots once, twice, then falls silent. There’s an indent in the fog at the edge of the light circle and he steps towards it, his movements far more confident than he actually feels. 

This time the fog doesn’t just move back away from him. It begins to part. Youngjo takes a deep breath and continues to walk. The light doesn’t follow. 

He’s still surrounded by suffocating darkness and the thick fog that reaches out to brush against his face with smoky tendrils. It’s almost as if he’s walking down a ridiculously long hallway with pale grey walls and no light at the end of the tunnel. 

When he turns around to see how far he’s gone away from the streetlamp, there’s nothing there. Not even any fog, just a blank wall of inky darkness. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out, his tongue is heavy in his mouth and his throat is dry. He keeps walking. 

Light floods his vision and anxiety and nausea rush in all at once. He’s standing in the middle of his high school’s school hall. Polished wooden flooring beneath his feet, and tall brick walls that stretch up towards the ceiling. There’s plaques and large wooden boards hung up, names engraved in gold on each one. The music is louder now too and when he looks towards the front of the hall, towards the stage, he sees a single violin floating in the air playing itself. He feels out of place, dressed in his pyjamas and standing alone in the wide open space. Every footstep of his is echoed, magnified. Every sharp intake of breath layered over and over as the sound reverberates around the room. 

He blinks and suddenly he’s surrounded by people. He knows them. He can still point out faces and match names to them as he spins around on the spot. There’s large circular dining tables that have been pushed back towards the walls, clearing the middle of the hall for- 

Oh. 

This is his mind’s conjuration of what the school formal for his grade was like. 

He feels small, surrounded by happy smiling faces, loud laughter, and cheering. If he had gone, would he have been one of them? Or would he have been one of those standing by the back, hiding in the shadows and praying not to be singled out for being alone and awkward. He manages a smile. He already knows the answer to that. 

The music dies down and the figures around him fade into nothing. Footsteps echo behind him, solid and familiar. He knows who it is before he’s even turned around, and that’s what brings him back to the crushing reality that this is all a dream. Because no, he hadn’t gone to the dance, he hadn’t been there for the food or the music or the out-of-school celebration of their graduation. He could have. But the one person he had wanted to spend the night with hadn’t wished to attend. 

This is all just a dream, and he can’t bring himself to turn around and face the ‘what if’ that his mind has conjured up. 

“Youngjo.” says Geonhak’s voice, so young and nervous and sweet and filled with hope. It’s so _Geonhak._

He wakes up with the sound of it ringing in his ears. 

\---

He stands outside the metal gate of his high school. He shouldn’t be here - it’s after hours and in the middle of the school holidays. But he hadn’t felt like controlling his impulses today. He climbs the tall metal fence and leaps forward onto a tree, grunting as his legs smack into a particularly large branch. The alarms don’t go off though. Youngjo: 1, high school: 0. 

He jumps down and makes his way towards the staircase that he knows will lead him to the rooftop, ignoring the large ‘STAFF ONLY’ sign that hangs right beside it. He can’t exactly walk through the actual buildings right now so the stairs will have to do. 

A pang of longing is what greets him when he arrives at the top. This was his second favourite spot after the music rooms and his gaze darts around, searching for a particular metal bench. He spots it in the far corner, still covered in familiar red and yellow paint. His chest tightens as he approaches it, fingers reaching out before he can stop himself and gliding over the bright letters that spell out his and Geonhak’s names. 

If only he had been a little braver or a little bolder, or if he had clung onto his best friend just a little tighter. Perhaps he could have confessed every word of affection and admiration that sits in his heart instead of reciting them now to the still air and the cold bench he lies himself down on. His head lays atop Geonhak’s name and he stares up at the stars with a bittersweet yearning swelling up within him. 

By the time he eventually returns home, midnight has long since come and gone. He collapses on his bed, too exhausted to change into his pyjamas. Instead he lays there staring at his ceiling until the fuzzy static in his head becomes visible and he spends the rest of the night in a dreamless haze. 

\---

The streetlamp overhead flickers once, twice, then stays on. 

It’s been about a week since he last had this dream but he can’t tell for certain; he hasn’t exactly been keeping track of how much time has passed. His song has been handed in and now all that’s left is to await his results. Geonhak hasn’t left his mind, but he has still been too nervous to reach out. 

The street is quiet, almost completely silent. Youngjo can hear every breath he takes and every small rustle of his clothing as he fidgets. He feels watched; he should be afraid. But the gaze is strangely comforting. He’s being observed, perceived, viewed. It makes this empty road feel less lonely. 

He glances down at his watch - it’s become a habit to wear it to bed - and 4:00AM looks back up at him. There’s something peaceful about the road today, not restless or uneasy, just peaceful. Being back brings with it the memories of his previous visit, and with those return the memories of high school. The aftertaste of old regrets linger on his tongue and he grimaces, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to bring his clothes closer to his body. 

He wonders if these dreams will ever end, and would he miss them if they did? 

The darkness around him seems to lift up, black fading to grey then white as the streetlamp flickers once more. He leans back against the pole and watches as the fog draws in closer towards him. Or maybe that’s just his vision blurring. 

He catches a glimpse of another figure emerging from the fog; a figure with broad shoulders and clothing (pyjamas?) decorated with little baby chicks. There’s a second lamppost that flickers into view across the road. He’s just asleep enough for his eyes to widen in recognition before he wakes up in his bed. 

“Geonhak?” 

\---

_They’re sitting on the roof of the school. Youngjo is perched on the metal bench, fingers absentmindedly tracing over his name scrawled in red paint on the surface beside him while Geonhak sits at his feet with his head tilted back to rest on the metal. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him as he cloud-gazes. Youngjo would be looking up too, but he’d rather keep his eyes on Geonhak._

_“So…” he begins, his words failing him almost immediately due to nerves._

_Geonhak hums, turning his head slightly in his direction although his eyes remain focused on the sky._

_“What do you think?” Youngjo asks, “About the formal. The dance. The- The prom? Whatever you want to call it.”_

_Geonhak hums again but it comes out as more of a vague noise of disinterest or disgust. Youngjo feels his heart begin to sink in his chest._

_“I don’t care about it.” Geonhak eventually answers, “Everyone crammed into the hall in the dark? Slow dancing? Count me out.”_

_“So…” Youngjo bites his tongue at the repetition, he clears his throat, “So you won’t be going?”_

_“Didn’t I just say that?”_

_Now it’s Youngjo’s turn to make a vague, noncommittal noise._

_“It’s not my thing.” Geonhak turns his entire body to face him, “I’m not gonna go.”_

_Youngjo blinks down at him, his rehearsed speech already getting tossed through the paper shredder in his head._

_“Has anyone asked you?” He asks anyway, just to be sure._

_Geonhak grimaces, “Of course not.”_

_There’s a long silence that falls between the two of them, one that itches at the back of Youngjo’s mind in a way that’s far from comfortable. This silence is more awkward than their usual ones._

_“You should go though.” Geonhak sighs, his head rolling back to face the sky again, avoiding Youngjo’s eyes. “I know it’s your sort of thing and I wanna be there for you but there’s just gonna be way too many people.”_

_“I know.” Youngjo whispers. He isn’t even sure if Geonhak has heard him until he pipes up again._

_“Besides, hyung, I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of people asking you out, huh?” Geonhak grins, wide and playful, but his eyes don’t sparkle like they normally do._

_He’s not wrong though and Youngjo hates it. For the past week he’s felt their cohort’s eyes on him, shy and nervous, waiting for the chance to ask him. He’s even found a note or two slipped into his locker but of course none of them had been signed off by the one person he_ wanted _to go with. And now that he has the perfect opportunity - Geonhak is literally right in front of him - he’s too afraid. He locks his words back up in his heart as he slides down off the bench to sit beside Geonhak and looks up at the clouds._

_His confession dies on his tongue, in his throat, before the words can ever escape his lips._

\---

The streetlamp doesn't flicker at all. 

Youngjo stands in the middle of the road, in the centre of a much wider area of light than his previous dreams. There is no sidewalk this time, no curb for him to sit and wait for something to happen. The streetlight whispers to him again, voice soft and inviting, comforting like a warm hug. The words are indiscernible but his shoulders relax at the sound regardless. There is something different yet still the same about this instance of the dream, something he can’t quite put his finger on. He paces around the edges of the circle, his fingers splayed out against the fog. It doesn’t pull away this time but it pushes back like an invisible wall holding him captive. 

The sound of a guitar grows louder, eventually accompanied by a piano and then a voice. His voice. 

He stops dead in his tracks. This is _his_ song. The one he had just finished, the one he had written with thoughts of Geonhak fluttering around in his mind. 

The moon is visible in the night sky above him alongside stars that twinkle into view one by one. He checks his watch - still 4:00AM. 

Suddenly the fog dissipates and before he has fully comprehended it, he’s alone. Standing by himself in the middle of the road with only faint whispers of smoke lapping and curling at his ankles. He must look ridiculous; he’s wearing his fluffiest pair of cat slippers, black sweatpants, and a grey shirt he had slipped on right before passing out on his bed. He glances down at the cartoon cat emblazoned across his chest and it smiles back up at him with one paw next to its cheek. It’s his only companion tonight. 

He’s proven wrong. 

A second streetlight flickers once and then stays on across the road from where he stands. Surrounded by white smoke that puffs up into cloud-like shapes and orbits the pole slowly. Youngjo holds his breath, palms starting to get sweaty as his anxiety grows and he begins to fidget with the rings that adorn his long fingers. His song is still playing, looping on and on all the words he wishes he had said to Geonhak in the past, all the words he wishes he had the courage to say now in the present. 

He feels his heart clench in his chest as a figure begins to fade into view beneath the second light. They’re standing upright, almost leaning back against the pole. They’re wearing plain black slippers and what looks like a gym outfit; sweatpants and a black tank top clearly showing off their muscles. Youngjo makes an odd strangled noise at the back of his throat and the other person opens their eyes slowly. 

Geonhak. It’s Geonhak. 

Even now, years later, even with his hair longer than Youngjo remembers it and his face more angled and his jaw so sharp it could and has cut right through his heart, Youngjo would recognise him anywhere. 

Geonhak’s eyebrows furrow as his gaze falls on Youngjo and he tentatively takes a small step forward. 

“Youngjo hyung?” 

“Hi.” Youngjo replies pathetically, voice sounding odd and faraway even to his own ears as he lifts a hand to give a small wave. 

Geonhak turns his head to look at his surroundings so quickly that Youngjo worries he might give himself whiplash. 

“So it _was_ you that I saw last time I had this dream.” Geonhak murmurs. 

Youngjo blinks. 

“You’ve had this dream before?” The words tumble out of his mouth. 

“A few times.” Geonhak answers, taking another step forward towards Youngjo, “This isn’t real, is it?” 

“I don’t think so,” Youngjo whispers. _I wish it was._

He bites his tongue. 

Geonhak is so close now, if Youngjo just reached forward he could be cradling his cheek, running his fingers through his hair, seeing the stars that he knows are reflected in his eyes. 

His song continues, louder now as the rest of the world melts away. He should say everything now. After all, this isn’t real. This isn’t actually him telling Geonhak anything but he can pretend, and hopefully his subconscious will allow himself some happiness in the form of Geonhak reciprocating his feelings. He reaches a hand forward before he can stop himself and cups Geonhak’s cheek, the latter’s eyes fluttering closed as he leans into the touch. 

“This has to be real.” Geonhak mutters as he lifts a hand to place it on top of Youngjo’s. “You’re still so much like you it can’t _just_ be a dream.” 

Youngjo wants to laugh and he wants to cry, and if he ends up doing both? Well that’s between him and this dream Geonhak whose eyes snap open in an instant with a look of intense concern. His nose scrunches for a moment and he’s so _real_ it _hurts_ him all the way to his soul. 

Youngjo has made up his mind. 

His song plays again from the beginning and he takes a deep breath, pulling his hand away from Geonhak's face and holding it out as the instrumental gets softer. 

“Geonhak?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I know this isn’t your thing,” He starts, “and that’s why you didn’t want to go to the dance in high school but,” 

He pauses. Geonhak’s looking up at him with the softest smile that has his eyes turning up into crescent moons. Youngjo wants to kiss that smile, he wants to kiss Geonhak so badly. 

“May I have this dance?” 

His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels so small under Geonhak’s gaze, so young and hopeful again with his eyes wide and pleading and happiness ready to burst forth and overwhelm him if Geonhak says yes. 

“You’re right,” Geonhak replies, “It isn’t my thing.” 

Youngjo swallows thickly. Of course, of course, he was a fool, there was no way- there was no universe in which Geonhak would have said yes. But then his smile transforms into a full grin, because that’s just how he is and always has been. 

“But for you? No- _with_ you?” He continues, “Yes. A hundred times yes.” 

He takes another step forward and takes Youngjo’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together as he presses their foreheads together. 

“You _will_ have to lead though.” He whispers. 

Youngjo can barely respond as he brings their joined hands together up to his lips and presses a kiss to each of Geonhak’s knuckles, making the other man’s ears flush bright red. He’s adorable and god, Youngjo loves him so much. 

“How about this, then?” Youngjo places a hand on Geonhak’s waist and motions with his chin towards his shoulder for Geonhak to place his other hand. 

The chorus begins and he feels the words flow through him, giving him the confidence he never realised he had. Of course, he was always sure of himself, but never for this. But, dream or not, this is happening and he can’t contain the pure joy that manifests in the form of words spilling out of his mouth like a waterfall he can no longer restrain. 

“You grew your hair out.” 

“Well yeah, hyung, hair grows.” 

Youngjo can’t help rolling his eyes, but then he smiles and he swears he feels Geonhak’s knees give out a little. 

“You look good, Geonhak.” He says, “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.” 

Geonhak doesn’t say a word, but his hand squeezes Youngjo’s shoulder. Youngjo in turn holds onto his hand a little tighter, as if Geonhak will disappear or cease to exist before he can get all his words out. 

“I wish I had been brave enough to tell you everything,” He closes his eyes as the two of them sway to the music, “This song- I wrote it for an assignment but really, it’s for you. Everything I wish I’d said before we just… drifted apart. I love you, Geonhak, I love you so much.” 

Geonhak lets out a little laugh, his hand gliding over Youngjo’s shoulder to rest at the back of his neck. 

“I love you too, hyung.” 

“No, I-” Youngjo bites his lip, “Fuck, I really am so in love with you. Your smile, your laugh, that face you make when you’re making fun of me or teasing me. The way you write, the way you _think,_ the way you do everything. It’s all so _you_ and I love all of it, I love it so much.” 

Geonhak is staring at him now, eyes wide and searching Youngjo’s as if he’s looking for the truth in his words. 

“I wanted to ask you to the dance,” Youngjo’s voice wavers and he prays that he doesn’t burst into tears, “but I didn’t want to push you or make you feel like you had to come.” 

He lets out a small laugh but it sounds hollow even to his own ears, “I was so worried you would want nothing more to do with me. I-”

“You should have asked anyway.” Geonhak interrupts him, his voice so low and soft that Youngjo almost misses it. He feels himself falling, melting into that sound as Geonhak presses himself even closer, so close that Youngjo can feel his breath on his face. 

“Geonhak?” 

“I wanted you to ask.” Geonhak closes his eyes, “You- You should have asked anyway, hyung.” 

“Would you have said yes?” 

“Yes,” He answers, swallows thickly, “I love you, I do. You make me so happy. You’ve always been there for me and I’ve always worried that I’m just holding you back. It’s why I- I just didn’t want to weigh you down.” 

His voice has dropped to a whisper and Youngjo finds himself clinging on to every word. 

“You’re so cheesy and you make me cringe sometimes but you’re so sweet and you-” He takes a shaky breath in, “I was scared too.” 

Geonhak opens his eyes again and pulls his head back a little. He lets go of Youngjo’s hand to hold onto his other shoulder. 

“I can’t believe you made a whole song for me you are such a _sap_ oh my god. That’s the most _you_ thing I’ve heard all night.” He blinks rapidly but a stray tear makes its way down his cheek. “I love you, Youngjo.” 

“We are both so…” 

“Stupid?” 

Youngjo laughs, “Yeah, stupid, sure. I was going to say dense but that works too.” He wraps both his arms around Geonhak’s waist and places a gentle peck to the tip of his nose. 

Geonhak raises an eyebrow, “You missed.” 

Youngjo smirks and presses his forehead to Geonhak’s again, “Did I? I don’t think so, I was aiming for your nose.” 

His heart clenches in his chest as Geonhak squints at him, his nose scrunching as he huffs. It’s all so real that it takes a moment for Youngjo to notice the fog has surrounded them again, snaking between their bodies as they near one of the lampposts. This is all a dream, just a dream. It breaks his heart more than he thinks Geonhak rejecting him would have. 

But if it’s all a dream, then there’s no harm in giving in. 

“Geonhak, baby, love of my life,” He starts, interrupted only by Geonhak sputtering for a few seconds as his cheeks flush, “May I kiss you?” 

“ _Please_ do.” 

They’re both leaning in before the words are fully out of their mouths, their lips meeting in a kiss that’s as soft and sweet as it is desperate and full of years of pent up pining. Geonhak’s fingers are in Youngjo’s hair, tangling in it as Youngjo makes little noises that sound almost like whines. He loses himself in it, even as there’s smoke brushing against his arms, all he feels is Geonhak’s hands on him and Geonhak’s lips against his, tasting faintly of strawberries. 

In this moment, the world is nothing more than just the two of them. 

“Making up for lost time, huh?” Geonhak laughs breathlessly when they pull apart for air. There’s a strange look in his eyes, his gaze focused on the air above Youngjo’s head and not on his face. 

Youngjo waits, his arms pulling back so that his fingers can trace small shapes against Geonhak’s hips. The fog seems thicker now, but only around him - Geonhak is still orbited by clouds and little white wisps, reminiscent of that day they had been sitting up on the roof. The light flickers for a split second behind Youngjo and he hears Geonhak inhale sharply. 

“You look like you have a halo.” He whispers almost reverently, “My angel.” 

Youngjo feels too much for words, responding simply by pulling Geonhak in for another kiss that’s both more intense and much, much softer. It's perfect. It's everything he could have ever hoped for or imagined. It's Geonhak's hands holding his face, pulling him in impossibly close as their lips move together. It's his tongue in Geonhak's mouth as his fingers slip beneath his shirt, running up along his back. It leaves him breathless and wanting to gasp for air. He doesn't want this dream to end. 

But when he opens his eyes, he’s greeted by the blank stare of his ceiling. The taste of strawberries lingers on his tongue and he sits upright in an instant, fingertips pressed against his tingling lips. 

It was real.

**Author's Note:**

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